Now that
by Mushroom Hair
Summary: we've met.
1. Chapter 1

**_For Indiefran, CC and MyNameIsYou xxxxx_**

* * *

"There's no need."

Christian saw the disappointment flash in Syed's eyes, the half turn, the wallet tucked quickly away in his trouser pocket.

"No! no!"

Christian worried that his voice had sounded too loud, too anxious.

"I mean, you don't have to buy it. But we can get something to eat, go halves. Anyway you haven't checked inside, I might have spent all your money on sweets."

The corner of Syed's mouth twitched slightly.

'Yay' thought Christian. 'Nearly a smile.'

"You don't look like a man that eats a lot of sweets." Syed glanced at Christian's body, then looked away quickly, embarrassed.

'Ha! Checking me out, saw you.'

Christian realised he felt ridiculously cheerful, standing in the busy street with a man poised to bolt. He was going to have to be careful he didn't get carried away, so overexcited that he scared him off.

"You'd be surprised, I'm a devil for a flying saucer and don't get me started on humbugs. We could go to Kettners maybe? They do a great burger, and there's a man playing the piano…"

Christian shifted uncomfortably, suddenly worrying that Syed Masood might not be the type of man to be wooed by the offer of piano players and burgers.

Syed considered for a moment.

"I can't eat, I mean, some meat.."

"They have other stuff, vegetarian, if you like, or we could try Soho Thai, or wherever, I mean, we don't even have to go now, arrange another time, like a.. if you need to get back to.."

Christian stopped talking, realising his babbling might be interpreted as desperation and that he had been very close to saying 'your wife.'

Syed laughed kindly.

"Kettners will be lovely. I'm sure there'll be something I can eat, I'm not too hungry anyway…."

'I just want to touch you.'

The notion both scared and delighted him, he felt suddenly shy.

A stray strand of hair had fallen across his forehead and Christian fought down the need to stroke it away.

"We could share a bowl of chips." suggested Syed and they fell into step on the way to Greek Street.

Christian contemplated the prospect. Normally it was something that annoyed him, on nights out with Roxy, when she said she wasn't hungry, that she'd share his food, it usually ended up with him wanting to stab her in the hand with a fork as she scoffed the whole lot. But this man, this slight figure walking a little way behind him, dodging amongst the crowds, he could have all the chips he wanted, anything Christian owned, he would give him, if he could only spend the night with him.

The piano player was playing 'I Dreamed A Dream' in a jazzy upbeat style as the waiter greeted Christian with familiarity and pulled back their chairs.

Christian had a sneaking suspicion that he may have had him at some point and desperately sought around his brain to remember his name, failed and just said.

"Thank you." brightly.

Syed unwrapped his napkin, noticing the waiter's friendliness, and asked;

"Do you come here often?" immediately cursing himself for being cheesy.

"Only in the mating season."

Christian groaned internally.

'What the fuck did I say that for?' he chastised himself.

He tried to sneak a sly look at Syed's hand, initially comforted by the lack of a wedding ring, then depressed at the realisation he would have, in all probability, removed it if he was out on the pull.

"Do you want white or red Sy?"

Syed shook his head.

"Neither, I don't drink."

"Really?" Christian glanced up from his menu, incredulous.

"I don't think I know anyone who doesn't drink."

Syed looked down at the tablecloth and twirled a wine glass nervously.

"Oh."

"No, no, It's good. I shouldn't, my profession and everything.."

"What is it you do?"

Christian flexed his muscles proudly.

"I've got my own gym, in the East End. Clarkes. That's my surname by the way."

"Christian Clarke."

Syed relished saying his name again, placing the emphasis on the 't' in Christian, loving how it felt on his tongue, allowing himself to wonder how he might feel on his tongue.

"And you Sy? What do you do?"

Syed saw Christian's gaze dip to his mouth and felt his insides turn to mush.

"I run a property business. Masood Property Management. That's my surname, Masood, not property management, obviously. But you know that."

Christian grinned.

"I know that. Our choice of business names is inspired isn't it? Mind you, when I started out my company name was 'Absacadabra.' until I got fed up with my family taking the piss out of me."

Syed chuckled.

"I'm not surprised they did. I was 'Move with Masood.' for a short while.."

Christian began to laugh loudly, a deep friendly laugh that warmed Syed's heart.

"Move with Masood? You sound like an aerobics instructor. Mr. Masoodivator."

Syed joined in with the laughter, pausing only when he caught sight of the waiter, approaching them to take their order.

He gathered all the courage he could find and asked diffidently;

"Do you really want to eat, Christian?"

"Not really, not food."

The suggestion hung in the air between them.

"Can we go somewhere?"

Christian could hardly hear the whisper, could hardly suppress his joy.

"Yes. I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2

They ran from the restaurant giggling like schoolboys, past the piano player now energetically tinkling an almost unrecognisable version of 'The Promise' by Girls Aloud, past the crestfallen face of the waiter, all hopes of a rematch with Christian dashed, and it was only when they reached the imposing glass doors of the St. Giles hotel that Syed started to get cold feet.

He looked at Christian's broad back as he turned to hold them open for him and hung back slightly.

Christian frowned.

"You alright Sy?" he asked, concerned.

Under the bright lights of the crystal chandelier in the foyer, Syed looked terrified.

"It's just, should we book two rooms, I mean.."

Christian felt his heart sink.

"Why would we do that Sy? Are you ashamed? It's not illegal you know, homosexuality, not any more." He tried to calm down, knowing that he sounded angry.

"I'll check in under my name, use my credit card, there won't be any incriminating receipts to be found by your.."

Wife, he had been going to say wife again. He was going to have to ask him outright.

"You're not married are you?" He held his breath, scared to hear the reply.

Syed blinked up at him, surprised.

"No! No, I'm not."

'How could he think I'd be here, in a hotel, late at night with him if I were?' He thought, shocked. And then realised that, even if he had been, for a man like him he would have shattered all vows, would break his faith.

"Do you still want to do this?"

Christian wasn't sure how he would cope if the answer was negative, worried he might break something, or cry.

"Yes." Syed's reply was small, hesitant but insistent.

Christian went up to the reception desk, leant confidently across.

"Double room please. Mr and Mr. Clarke."

The receptionist never batted an eyelid and handed over a registration form for him to sign and then a small plastic card.

In the lift, they stood at opposite sides, watchfully regarding each other, separated by a raucous hen party, the squealing girls trying, and failing, to catch their attention.

"Ninth floor! The automated woman trilled and the metal doors slid open.

In the hushed quiet of the carpeted corridor, they found their room.

Christian slid the card into the lock, waiting for a click. When none came he noticed he had put it in upside down.

"You've put it in upside down." Pointed out Syed helpfully.

"I won't make that mistake again." Christian smiled to himself as he sensed Syed stiffen at the double entendre.

Christian placed the plastic card into the power socket and the lights buzzed on, he took in the small room.

"What a lot of wood!" he remarked, making a mental note to try and stop sounding so smutty.

Syed glanced at the double bed with longing, the starched striped counterpane waiting to be crumpled, the sheets waiting to feel the heat of their bodies.

Christian turned on the bedside lamps and came to stand in front of Syed. Wordlessly he pulled his T shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and socks, unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them.

"Commando." The word stuck in Syed's throat.

"Commando." Christian smiled.

Syed dropped his jacket onto the floor, struggled with clumsy fingers on the buttons of his shirt, finally pulling at it so hard that one pinged off and skittered across the floor. He removed his trousers.

"Pants." He apologised.

"Nice though. Calvin Klein?"

Syed nodded and took them off.

They stood and stared at each other silently, the background noise of the city traffic, a loud television from the adjoining room, the distant shouts of merriment along the corridor heightened in their ears.

Syed relished the powerfulness of Christian's body, the smooth muscles, so glad that he wasn't overdeveloped to the point of caricature, no bulging veins and sinews twisted like the roots of an old tree, just pure strength and power.

Christian felt his mouth fill with saliva as his eyes wandered over Syed, the spare litheness, long, lean limbs. He hadn't known that he had a type until now.

He broke the silence.

"We're like cowboys on a Vivienne Westwood T shirt, standing here."

"Hmm?" Syed looked confused, not understanding the imagery.

"Or sword fighters, about to fight to the death."

Syed swallowed.

"On guard." he said quietly.

Christian smiled.

"What do you like Syed?"

Syed managed to stop staring at Christian's cock and frowned, puzzled.

What did he mean? Why was he asking him about his hobbies? Did he have any? He was usually too busy with work and family life to have any outside interests, he had a secret passion for the X Factor, and he had been keen on cricket when he was younger.

"Cricket.." He offered.

Christian was taken aback, he wasn't sure he'd heard of that one and he'd done everything imaginable before, then slowly it dawned on him and he laughed delightedly.

"Numpty. In bed, what would you like me to do?"

Syed flushed,

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Has no one ever made love to you before?" Christian's voice was deep, concerned.

Suddenly frightened that he may be coming across as some shy inexperienced virgin, Syed began to bluster.

"Oh I've done plenty, believe me, stuff that would make your eyes water…"

He tailed off, aware that his limited grubby, soulless, fumblings with strangers probably wouldn't impress Christian.

It had occurred to Christian that if Syed had never been made love to before, he, Christian, had never himself made love to anyone. None of what had gone on before could be described as love.

He moved a step closer and held up his index finger, Syed mirrored the gesture and a small blue spark of static electricity crackled between them.

"E.T."

Syed lifted tawny brown eyes to Christian's, the pupils huge with desire.

"Come home."


	3. Chapter 3

Syed turned over slowly as Christian slipped from inside him, the pain of his absence greater than the physical.

"We've worked out you like that then." Christian pulled himself up along Syed's body, skin against skin, smearing the cum over their stomachs and propped himself up on his elbows, running his hands through Syed's hair.

"Almost as much as cricket." Syed whispered.

He could hear the pounding of Christian's heart, synchronised with his own, see the pulse vibrating in his throat. He kissed it and Christian sighed and buried his face in the curve of his shoulder, murmuring;

"It's that damn Freddie Flintoff, you love him more than me."

Love, the word went unquestioned, neither of them able to disavow it.

Syed rubbed the back of Christian's head, raking his fingernails through the short hair.

"You'll just have to try that little bit harder then, won't you?" He teased.

"Harder." Christian bent to lick the hollow between Syed's collarbones.

"I can give you harder."

* * *

Syed waited for Christian's shuddering to subside and climbed up the bed, wrapped himself around him, pulling him close.

"You dirty minx." Christian laughed, catching his breath.

"And now I know what you like too." Syed felt triumphant

"Yes you do. You. I like you."

They lay silently for a while, heads resting on the pillow, looking into each other's eyes, until Christian fell asleep.

Syed knew that this would normally have been the time for him to escape, run off into the dawn light without leaving his name. In fact, he would have been long gone, disappeared after the first orgasm, but he could not leave, had no desire to.

He stroked Christian's face softly, tracing the line of his jaw until he felt his own eyelids grow heavy and began to doze.

* * *

The morning sun streamed into the room and Syed slipped from under Christian's arm, going to look out of the window. He could see the shoppers beginning to scuttle along in to Oxford Street, the cranes on the unfinished Crossrail station soaring into the sky, their metal reflecting the light in glancing shards and in the distance the shining glitter of the Thames reflecting onto Big Ben.

"Ten O'clock." He noted.

Christian's mobile began to buzz on the bedside cabinet and he grunted and slammed his hand onto it.

"Morning!" He called blearily. "What are you doing over there?"

He squinted at the screen on his phone.

"Oh shit."

Syed glanced across with concern.

"What's up?"

"Peter, my nephew. He's stressing about doing the circuits class on his own. Bugger, I'd better go home.."

He smiled at Syed.

"I don't want to leave you. Look at you, you're delicious."

Syed came to sit by him on the bed.

"I could come with you?" he suggested hopefully.

Christian's face lit up.

"Would you? Ooh, I forgot to say, really bizarre coincidence, when I looked in your wallet, to see how much money I could nick to spend on sweets, your photo, I know your Mum and Dad, it was taken where I live.."

Syed went rigid, suddenly immobile, his expression stony. He stood up abruptly.

"You know my parents?" His voice was icy cold.

"Well my sister does, and Denise my neighbour, I think she's still in touch with them. Your Dad was my postman. Zainab and Masood isn't it? Is he Masood Masood then? Isn't that funny, we were destined to meet… Sy?"

Syed was fighting his way back into his clothes, face like thunder.

"If you say anything I'll deny it all. You tell no one. You understand? I was never here."

Christian scowled, confused.

"What the fuck Syed. How old are you? Thirty and still not out? I won't say anything, but you should tell them, they must suspect…"

Syed fastened the strap of his watch, his hands shaking.

"That's my business. They must never know. Best we just forget this ever happened. I'm sorry."

The door slammed, shaking the room, and Christian lay astounded, staring after him, shouting;

"What if I don't want to forget?"


	4. Chapter 4

Syed noticed the cab driver reach discreetly behind him and pull the partition window shut.

'Stinky Masood.' he thought disconsolately.

He reeked of sex, could smell Christian on him, feel the evidence of last night dry and cracking on his stomach. But unlike all the other occasions, he didn't have the need to rush in and scour himself clean under a scalding shower, he wanted to curl up into a ball and sniff himself.

Or better still, he pondered, turn the car round and go back to the hotel.

He felt tears rise again, tears he thought were done with forever when he stood in that street and heard Christian say his name for the first time.

'I have sinned and I am cursed.' He told himself, ignoring a little voice deep inside shouting in thin reedy tones that it could not be a sin to feel so much for someone.

'I don't even know him. He's probably on the phone now, boasting how he's had the postman's boy, spreading the gossip, telling them what he did to me and how often, and what I did to him.'

He squirmed in his seat, partly from shame but mostly from the remembered pleasure.

The Taxi pulled into the forecourt of his Docklands apartment, he imagined that the driver held his breath as he took the fare. He pulled his crumpled jacket closer around him, cold out of the sun, and jangled the keys from his pocket.

Sorting through to find the right one for the main doors, he didn't see the figure step out of the shadows and jumped as the man said his name.

"Syed!"

"Dad!"

Syed tried to compose his face, wipe away the flash of guilt that he knew must have shot out like a laser, a blatant sign that parents could always pick up on.

"Syed."

Masood had lowered his tone now and was looking at Syed accusingly.

"Dad."

'We could go on like this for hours.' Syed reflected.

"Have you been out all night?"

Syed fumbled with the key in the lock, attempting not to catch his father's eye.

"Worked late at the office, thought I'd stay, sleep on the sofa in reception. What are you doing here Dad?"

He stood back to let Masood enter the lift before him, dreading the enclosed space, the tell tale scent on his body.

Masood's nostrils flared slightly.

"If you say so son, but you be careful. You know your Mother worries about you, the people you mix with."

"There is nothing wrong with the people I mix with."

Resentment rose up in Syed like bile.

The lift arrived at his flat and he unlocked the door, racing to key in the security code on the beeping alarm.

"What can I do for you Dad?"

Syed switched on the coffee machine, searching through the drawer for the sachets. Acutely aware of the difficult, tetchy relationship he had with his father. He wanted him to be proud, of the real him, not the carefully cultured lie that he presented.

Masood lifted up a pile of magazines from the glass table and looked through them, Syed wondering, in a panic, if he'd left the copy of Attitude there by accident.

"Mum sent me, she was worried. You said you'd phone her first thing, she's been trying to call you but keeps being sent to voicemail."

Syed took the milk from the fridge and poured it into two cups. That was going to be a joy for him later, deleting hours of her squawking. He didn't recall saying he'd ring, he had probably just gone 'yes' in a gap by mistake.

Syed handed Masood a cup of coffee.

"You can see I'm not dead, so everything's okay." He couldn't keep the irritability from his tone

Masood scrutinised him over the top of his drink, took a measured sip and asked;

"But are you? Since Saira left? She was a lovely girl Syed, so right for you."

'No Dad' The inner voice was screaming again.

'He is so right for me, Christian. And I've lost him.'


	5. Chapter 5

Christian stormed through the market, head down, ignoring Billy's cry of;

"Oi, dirty stop out, who've you been up to." resisting the desire to kick the fruit and veg stall over and push his face into a melon.

"I'm really sorry Uncle Christian." Peter's worried face greeted him at the door of the gym. "I couldn't find the list and I didn't want to get it wrong."

Christian sighed impatiently.

"It isn't hard Peter, make them do fifty squat thrusts and a billion star jumps, just shout at them, they pay for the shouting."

Seeing the worry in his eyes, he patted him kindly on the shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I'll have a shave and a shower and I'll come down and take over."

He trudged up the stairs to his flat and let himself in. It was just as he'd left it the day before, tidy, sterile, perfect. But he was different, he could feel it in his heart. A changed man.

He cut himself shaving and, trying to stem the flow with tissue, he peered gloomily at his reflection, unable to ignore the dark shadows, a frown line etched slightly deeper. He leaned his head against the cool glass of the mirror.

'Back to normal, Christian.' he told himself. 'It wasn't such a bad life before…'

Before he met Syed. It now felt like a half life, as if he had been running through it like a ghost, not letting anyone near. And yet in one night, one night with a man who was essentially a stranger, everything had changed.

Christian started the circuits class off for Peter and then left him in charge. Pouring himself a drink from the water cooler, he looked up as Steve walked in, resplendent in green lycra.

"Fuck me, it's the green goddess!"

Steve bridled.

"Sam bought it for me cheeky. Anyhow you can talk. What happened to you last night? Did you pick a wrong 'un? You look like shit."

Christian threw his empty plastic cup into the bin.

"Don't spare my feelings, tell me what you really think. How was Laura's opera?"

Steve started to splutter with laughter.

"Oh honestly Christian, you should have come, not that she would have let you in I suppose, it was a hoot. They were all dressed up as farm animals, trying to sing through massive papier mache heads. Sam drew blood biting his knuckles trying not to laugh, and I swear I wet myself a little bit. Did you find someone to play with?"

Christian rubbed his face, wincing as he opened the shaving cut again.

"The man from over the road."

Steve's jaw dropped.

"You never! The tourist? And was he?"

Christian slumped against the wall, wanting to howl.

"No, well sort of. He did the running off, saying don't tell anyone, thing. But he said he wasn't married."

Steve watched him sympathetically.

"And you believed him? You? Christian Clarke? He must have been hot."

Christian gave a small sad smile.

"He was wonderful."

Steve grabbed onto the water cooler in mock horror, sending it wobbling precariously, big bubbles gurgling up to the top.

" Bloody hell! I can't wait to tell Sam. Are you in love?"

"I rather think I might be. But it doesn't matter, because I'll never see him again."

Christian tugged at the cord on Steve's lycra top.

"Come on then, lets pump you up even more. Are you sure you want to be this ripped? Your testicles will disappear."


	6. Chapter 6

Syed stood up as the girl entered the café. Pulling back her chair and settling her down.

She was pretty, he could see that, long wavy dark hair with copper highlights, beautiful big eyes, a light of hope in them, a keenness.

He ordered tea for them both and turned attentively to her.

"So Farida, Auntie Bushra says you're an intern at The Royal Free?"

She looked down modestly and played with a bangle on her right wrist.

"Yes, at the renal unit, it's fascinating work."

Syed thanked the waitress as she carefully put down the teapot and cups.

"I bet. Must be long hours."

She smiled, showing perfect small white teeth.

"Doesn't leave much time for hobbies, or socialising."

Syed laughed sympathetically.

"Tell me about it. My work isn't anyway near as challenging or stressful as yours, but I find it very difficult to find spare time myself."

He hoped this might stand as an excuse for never getting in contact with her again.

"It's property isn't it? That's important, every one needs a home."

'Bless you.' Thought Syed. 'Not really as important as saving people's lives. Everyone needs a home, but not an overpriced warehouse conversion with views of the Thames Barrier if you hang out of the window on a rope.'

She poured out the tea.

"So what do you do on the rare occasions you find yourself with a spare moment. What do you like?"

She tilted her head to one side, genuinely interested.

'I like cocks.' He hoped he hadn't gone mad and said it out loud.

"Cricket."

"Oh really? Watching or playing?"

"Playing." He lied.

'Playing with my friend Christian. He has superior ball control.'

Christian. It had been a week now, a week and six hours since he'd stormed out of the hotel room, leaving all happiness behind him.

She must have seen a spasm of misery pass across his face, because she touched his hand.

"Are you okay Syed?"

He felt her soft skin on his and remained unmoved, subtly pulling away, he grimaced.

"Just a touch of indigestion."

"You should get that checked out. Over work and stress, you could be getting an ulcer."

Syed felt so sorry, sorry for her kindness, sorry that she was wasting her valuable time on a man who could never be a viable proposition for her, sorry for himself, having to go through this lie with depressing regularity just to shut his mother up.

He envied Tamwar, blissfully in love with a suitable girl, genuinely looking forward to a life of happiness, children, family. Blessed.

She chatted about mutual friends, about Tamwar's upcoming marriage, about babies and he felt like an alien visiting a strange planet, unable to comprehend their strange ways.

He tried not to cheer when her bleeper went off and she had to leave, kissing her chastely on the cheek, agreeing that yes, it had been fun, that they must do it again if they could find the time and that he'd see her at the wedding.

As he watched her expertly hail a taxi, waving to him through the window, his thoughts turned again to Christian and a tear plopped into his unfinished tea.


	7. Chapter 7

Christian turned his hand slightly, watching the dragonfly's wings shimmer from gold to green, he twitched his thumb and it whirred away into the cloudless blue sky.

Sam broke away from the crowd by the barbecue and came racing across the grass waggling a sausage.

"Christian!" He called.

Christian took a step back to steady himself as Sam hurtled against him.

"Yes dear."

Sam danced around in front of him, over excited.

"How do you make papier mache?" He asked.

Christian smiled at him indulgently.

"Why are you asking me? Do I look like a man who knows how to make papier mache?"

"You're brainy, you read big papers."

Christian considered for a moment.

"That's what you need."

"Eh?"

Sam screwed up his face in bemusement.

"Newspaper, scrunched up with wallpaper paste."

"Bum. B & Q's miles away." Sam's face dropped in disappointment.

"You could try flour and water. And I think you need a balloon to pack it round. Bobby told me. Dare I ask why?"

Sam tittered and gestured behind him to the group at the drinks table.

"Laura's here. We were going to make a big pig's head and sing through it at her. Do you think a blown up condom would do instead of a balloon?"

Christian laughed.

"I'm sure it would."

He sneaked a sly look at Laura, dressed in a long purple kaftan, wild grey hair twisted into a high ponytail.

"She'll go nuts though, she's been looking daggers at me all afternoon."

Sam stroked his arm and affected a wheedling tone.

"That's why Chrissy Wissy, we thought you could wear it, as she hates you anyway."

"Fuck off. No way. Not happening."

Sam stuck out his lower lip petulantly.

"God, you're no fun lately. You need to get that man out of your head. Tim's coming by the way, he might help take your mind off him."

He ran off, trying to find someone else to do his dirty work, leaving Christian to consider Tim.

He had been quite keen on Tim for a while, had considered that he might be the sort of man he could settle down with. Tall, handsome, short blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes, the irises ringed with black. He was a successful artist, cultured and funny. But time and circumstance had come between them and they had never managed to get beyond that first date.

Roxy was approaching him now, her impossibly high stiletto's snagging in the earth, making her lurch drunkenly.

'Or that could be the drink.' He decided.

"Babe, take your shoes off, you'll break your ankle."

He licked his finger and wiped a smudge of mascara from beneath her eye.

"I'm arivating, arsating, wassername the lawn." She slurred.

"Aerating? How much have you had?" He supported her by the elbow.

"Christian you are a big party pooper misery guts. That sexy Tim's coming. Are you sure he's gay? I fancy him.."

"Yes I'm sure, and I don't care. He reminds me of a Husky."

She jerked her head back and stared at him, incredulous.

"But you were mad for him a couple of months ago!"

Christian twisted her around and leant her gently against a Laurel bush.

"Things change. I'm going for a pee."

* * *

Christian sat in the small back bedroom of Steve and Sam's terraced house on a heaped up pile of coats. He rested his elbows on the sill of the open sash window and watched the party goers mingle and dance, their voices shrill above the music, faces sweaty from the mixture of afternoon sun and alcohol.

The door creaked slightly behind him and he hurriedly wiped the back of his hand over his reddened eyes.

"Christian! Sam told me you were up here somewhere."

Christian half turned his head.

"Hi Tim. Long time no see."

Tim came to sit beside him and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Give us a kiss then."

He saw Christian's stricken face.

"Have you been crying?"

Christian sniffed and tried to laugh it off.

"Hayfever." He lied.

'And abject misery. All because a week and six hours ago, Syed bolted out of the room like Cinderella at midnight, not even leaving a glass slipper…'

Christian jumped up and sprinted for the door, calling behind him.

"I'm sorry Tim. I've got to go."


	8. Chapter 8

"She was lovely."

Syed spun his chair around and stared through the tinted picture window of his sixth floor office, watching a Docklands Light Railway train as it meandered away on route to Island Gardens.

He imagined a perfect picture of Island Gardens, lush green vegetation hanging from golden stone walls, humming birds flitting from one pollen sodden lily to another, until his mother's voice brought him screeching back to reality.

"But she works very hard, I work very hard, I don't know when…"

He slumped in his executive leather chair, the air in the hydraulic mechanism squeezing out with a vulgar farting noise, making him grin.

"I know you should always make time for love mum…"

He stuck his tongue out at the receiver.

"I'll call you, no I won't forget, yes love you too, bye…."

He watched another train returning, and then another going the other way, then sighed and twisted round to press the intercom button.

"I'm scared." Ciaran, one of the more junior agents hovered in front of the receptionist's desk. Jenny, a glamorous young mum in her late twenties, poker straight blonde hair framing a sharp face, nodded sympathetically.

"You should be. You know what he gets like if things don't go to plan, and he's been even worse since last week. Have you looked everywhere?"

Ciaran ran his finger inside his collar, feeling himself perspire.

"Everywhere. Even in the recycling bin. I've tried piecing together the bits from the shredder too."

A light lit up on Jenny's desk and she pressed her earpiece closer into her ear.

"He's here Mr. Masood. Shall I send him through?"

She mouthed 'Good luck' and Ciaran slid open the glass door to Syed's office.

Syed glanced up briefly at the spotty boy in the doorway.

"Come in Ciaran. Have you got the contract for the Portobello Road house that Mr. Tompkins signed? I need to check it over before we can release the keys, he's quite insistent that he needs to move in by the end of the week or the deals off."

Ciaran gulped and attempted to speak, only managing a tiny squeak.

Syed looked up at him with concern.

"Ciaran?"

"I.."

The atmosphere in the office froze and Syed began to tap impatiently on the black ash desk with his pen.

"You..?"

Ciaran's words spewed out in a rush.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Masood, it won't happen again, I've looked everywhere, I can't understand…"

Syed held up the pen to halt him.

"You've lost it."

"I've lost it."

The silence became deafening and Ciaran considered running and hurling himself through the window.

"Never mind."

Ciaran's jaw dropped, astounded.

"Really?"

"These things happen. Bike a replacement one over to him, with a bottle of champagne and our apologies. Then hold the fort here for a bit. I've got to go out."

Syed took his jacket from the coat stand and gave Ciaran a beautiful smile.

"None of it matters, does it?"


	9. Chapter 9

"You're back then!"

Christian plonked the milk onto the counter and Denise rubbed her hands down the front of her green tabard.

"Yes darlin.' Went to stay with a mate in Brentford. Patrick said you were asking for me. What can I do for you?"

Christian had been rehearsing in his head all weekend, trying to think of the best, least suspicious way of finding out what he needed to know, without putting Syed in danger of being found out.

He toyed with the lid of the carton.

"I had someone in the gym mention the Masoods that used to live here. He'd, I mean she'd, lost touch, you knew them quite well didn't you?"

Denise scanned the milk.

"He or she? You should know the difference." She laughed.

Christian blushed slightly.

"She. Got men on the brain, you know me. So did you know them?"

Denise leant her elbows onto the counter, settling down happily for a gossip.

"Yeah, she could be a bit of an old cow. He seemed like a sweetheart though, but I think he could be quite tough on his kids."

"Kids?"

Christian hoped his light carefree tone was convincing.

"Girl and two boys. Shabnam the girl went travelling I think, the boy Tamwar, bit geeky, good friends with Libby. He works in Pharmaceuticals now, getting married soon, Zainab's over the moon."

Christian lifted his hand to decline the carrier bag that Denise pushed towards him.

"And the other boy?"

He wondered if Denise could tell that his heart had stopped beating, that his dry mouth wanted to say 'Syed' aloud.

"I didn't really meet him. He was a bit of a bad lot I think. One for the ladies."

Christian tried not to titter, letting her continue.

"There was a problem with some money, Zainab and Masood had blazing rows about him, Masood said he should be cast out of the family, but I think Zee talked him round in the end. The boy made amends though, bought them a big house, set them up in a catering business, Masala King…

"And were they very religious?"

Christian interjected.

"I suppose they were. Quite liberal in some ways, allowing the girl to go off backpacking. But no drinking or anything like that, regularly at the Mosque. I think they were harder on the boys if I remember rightly, especially the eldest. I saw photo's of him. Utterly gorgeous, the most beautiful eyes and sexy mouth. I bet he's broken a few hearts."

Christian smiled politely, wanting to scream at her;

'I've kissed that mouth, felt it on me, stared into those eyes, and it's my heart that's broken, shattered into a million pointless pieces.'

He picked up the carton and made to leave the shop.

"Thanks Denise.."

"Do you want their phone number? I've got it somewhere.."

She began to rummage around in the drawer under the counter.

"No, no, It's okay, I'll send the client over if she asks about them again. Thanks!"

He was almost into the street as she called;

"Jane knew them too. Why didn't you ask her?"

He shrugged noncommittally and waved a farewell, keeping the reason to himself.

'Because she would want to know why.'


	10. Chapter 10

Syed hovered about behind the railings of the square.

'I'm doing that furtive lurking thing again.' he realised self consciously.

Taking his courage into both hands, he stepped into the road and approached the building, the bright neon sign glowing above it; 'Clarke's'

He peered through the frosted glass, hoping to discern a familiar figure, but could only see the vague forms of people moving rhythmically in unison.

"You alright, Darlin'?"

He jumped, clutching his chest and turned in a panic.

"Hi, yes. Just waiting for my friend to come out. He, she's doing a class.."

Denise lowered the key from her front door and scrutinised him, her face slowly brightening with recognition.

"She found you quick then!"

Syed attempted not to look as confused as he felt.

"Yes. Did she?" He bleated.

Denise pointed at the gym.

"Your mate. Christian was only asking after your family about an hour ago, saying a client of his was looking for the Masoods, so it was you she was after? You are Zainab's boy?"

Denise looked him up and down, not surprised someone had been so keen to find him. He looked nervous, edgy, but a soft summer breeze had lifted the long dark hair from his face and blown his shirt tighter to his body.

"Christian." He allowed himself the luxury of saying his name again.

"Yeah, Clarke. It's his gym. Why don't you just go in and wait? He's a lovely bloke, he won't mind."

Syed began to lose his nerve. Why had Christian been asking about his family? He wouldn't ring them, go round to their house, expose him, would he? Hurt pride making him vindictive? Then he recalled the touch of him, the gentle care, the look in his eyes as he'd held him. He wouldn't.

Syed felt too shy to see Christian amongst other people, in his place of work. What if he was angry with him for storming off without an explanation? Wanted nothing more to do with him?

"No, I don't want to disturb him, her. She doesn't like me to see her sweaty.."

'Whaat?' He groaned inwardly, he was sounding like a lunatic.

"I'll wait in that Café, over there…"

Denise looked at him with concern, he must like this girl an awful lot to have turned up so quickly, be so agitated. Maybe Zainab didn't approve.

"Okay, but I'm sure he'd be quite happy to let you wait inside. Oh here's Jane, Christian's her brother. Christian wouldn't mind this young man sitting in and waiting for his girlfriend would he?"

An attractive middle aged woman rested her shopping bags on the pavement and stretched her back, smiling at Syed. He glanced up into her eyes, seeing an echo of Christian's there, in the warmth, and the kindness.

"Christian doesn't mind anything much, do anything for anyone, my brother. But I'm sure he told me the gym had been hired out by the Southern Counties Shot putting team for the day, I saw him heading off for the tube, probably going shopping. Is your girlfriend a shot putter…?"

Jane thought it unlikely, but didn't like to appear stereotypical, she left that to her husband.

The two women regarded him with interested expressions and he opened and shut his mouth a few times, finally managing to utter.

"I must have got the wrong day. Thank you, sorry, I'll ring her.."

His mobile phone jangled into life, an inappropriately cheerful tone emanating from his back pocket, and he wanted to kiss it in gratitude.

"This is probably her now, thanks, see you."

"Give your mum my love!" He heard Denise call, overheard Jane saying excitedly "Is that Zainab's boy?" and fretted that the next conversation he would have with his mum would be "Who's that girl you're seeing in Walford?"

'Not a girl, mum. A man.'

He flipped open his phone, heading quickly in the direction of the underground station.

"Jenny. What's up? Can't I leave that lot in charge for a minute without there being a crisis? The Hoxton house? Ciaran can deal with it surely? Why does he need to see me? Okay, I'll get there as soon as I can. Tell Ciaran to let him in and wait for me. Merchant banker, name of Mr. Pilgrim. Got it."


	11. Chapter 11

Syed dashed up the road from Old Street, tucking in his shirt and whipping a tie from his inside pocket. He could see Ciaran in the distance, pacing fretfully outside the front door of the six bedroom town house, an imposing property overlooking the square.

Syed felt sorry for him, seeing a reflection of himself outside Christian's gym, the same discomfiture, stressed and worried that he was going to mess things up.

As he neared, and spotted the relief on Ciaran's face, he smiled reassuringly.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Masood. I gave him the tour, did all the spiel, like you taught me. But he was adamant he wanted to deal with the boss…."

Syed tightened the knot on his tie and did up the buttons on his jacket, feeling hot and overdressed in the glorious sunshine.

"It's okay Ciaran. You've done your best. It's an expensive property to leave you to deal with, I should have been here. Are those the details?"

Ciaran nodded, relieved and surprised that he hadn't received a telling off, or the sack, handed over the glossy brochure.

"Thank you. Get back to the office. In fact, take the rest of the day off. See you tomorrow. Is he inside?"

"Back bedroom on the third floor when I left him. Cheers Mr. Masood!"

Syed grinned wryly.

"You mean the study. Off you go."

Syed took a deep breath and looked up at the grand house, grand now, not too many months before it had been a derelict squat. Ciaran had been right, it was a back bedroom, not a study.

'So many lies in my life.' Thought Syed sadly. He was sick of them. Girding himself up to try and sell the overpriced space to a man with probably more money than sense, he entered the house.

"Hello!" His footfall resonated loudly on the bare wooden boards and his voice echoed back to him.

"Mr. Pilgrim!" He pushed open the door and held out his hand. "Hi, so sorry to keep you waiting, Syed Masoo…."

Christian stood at the opposite side of the room, leaning casually, elbow resting on the stone mantle piece, one foot propped up against the wall.

"Hey." He said quietly.

"Merchant banker?" Syed clutched the glossy brochure in front of him, his nails digging into the cover.

Christian smiled.

"Cockney rhyming slang. In case you think I am one. Nice tie."

Syed lifted his hand to his throat, loosened the knot nervously.

"I never thought that. I got scared. Nice vest."

Christian shifted slightly, stroking his finger along the top of the fireplace sending dust motes swirling into a shaft of sunlight.

"And are you scared now?" He asked quietly.

"Yes. But I don't care, it doesn't matter..." Syed took a hesitant step nearer, longing to close the distance between them.

"Why'd you run off Sy?"

He turned his head and Syed saw the hurt in his eyes. The words cracking in his throat, Syed answered.

"Because of my faith. I can't love you."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Here you go, last bit. Sorry it was a bit angsty. Hope you enjoyed it and many thanks for all your reviews. In the words of the 'real' Syed Masood "I love you for it." :) xxxx_**

* * *

"But you do."

The sycamore tree outside the window moved in the breeze,it's leaves dappling the light across the bare room. Syed dropped the brochure onto the floor.

"Yes."

Christian put his hands together, brought them up to his mouth.

"Explain to me."

Syed took a step backwards, slumped against the wall and slid down it, sitting crumpled on the floor. Christian did not act on the unbidden twitch of impulse that rushed through his body, a reflex to cross to him and give comfort. Held himself still, controlled, waiting.

"In Islam, a man cannot love another man the way I love you. It's Haraam, forbidden."

Christian breathed in sharply.

"But you do love me."

Syed nodded.

"And you are a Muslim."

Syed began to cry.

"And in my heart I know it can't be wrong. Now, since I met you. Feeling this way, why would I be punished for loving? But my family will never, ever understand. They cast me out once, I worked so hard for them to accept me again…"

"And what did they do Sy? To deserve you? What compromises did they make? Did they sacrifice the core of their being to make you happy? I love you Sy. Don't let them destroy you. Be with me."

Christian crossed the room in three strides, kneeling beside Syed, stroking his hair as he wept into his shoulder.

* * *

They sat side by side on the wooden floorboards as the shadows lengthened across the room.

"Do you want me to tell them?"

Syed laughed.

"Oh yeah , that'll go down well. A great big hunk of muscle rings on their doorbell and announces himself as my boyfriend. 'Hi Mr and Mrs Masood, I'm Christian, just popping by to let you know that your son's gay and that I love him in ways you could not possibly begin to imagine.' My mother would implode."

Christian kissed his cheek.

"You've got a point. I'll come with you though, wait outside, in case I need to rush in and save you. Where shall we live? Shall we buy this place?"

Syed picked up the discarded brochure.

"Have we got a spare two million pounds? Six bedrooms, views over the square, solid oak reclaimed flooring throughout."

Christian shifted uncomfortably.

"I've got splinters of it in my arse. Your place or mine?"

Syed linked his fingers through his.

"Yours. You've got neighbours, people talk to each other, my place you're lucky if you see anyone, and if you do they're always jogging. Plus you've got a little shop!"

Christian lifted their joined hands and lay them against his cheek.

"Minute Mart." He murmured. "Everyone will know our business. There'll be whispering."

"Good, let them. I don't want to hide anymore." Syed stood and pulled Christian up to join him, wrapping his arms around his neck.

Christian rubbed his hands up Syed's back, under his shirt, against his skin.

"Come on then handsome, I hope you realise what you're letting yourself in for."

Syed looked up at him, eyes bright with happiness.

"You and me. Forever."


End file.
